


Déjà Vu

by smallerontheoutside (theinvisiblequestion)



Series: Playlist [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblequestion/pseuds/smallerontheoutside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke meet in a bar; Finn tries to interr—whoa… didn’t this happen last week?</p><p>(Inspired by 3OH!3's song of the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

Bellamy slides onto the barstool and taps the counter twice. The braided girl is bartending again, and when he holds up two fingers, she mixes him something stiff. It’s sad, he thinks, that the bartenders here all know him and know what he drinks; he lives right around the corner, and this is where he and the guys have pretty much all of their gigs, but that’s a pathetic excuse.

He’s so used to the way this club moves and thinks and works that he doesn’t notice the blonde girl sneak in the back way until the bartender is sliding a drink across to her. He’s seen her before, but that’s not surprising. He’s kissed her before, though, and that’s not something he does with people who frequent this club. It was right after his last gig, actually, a week ago, and that fugly greaser ex-boyfriend of hers tried to interrupt them. His smooth comment about vegetarianism got him pretty far with her.

She’s wearing tight jeans and a black tanktop that shows just the right amount of chest, which, for a club, is a lot. But if he wanted to stare at tits all day like a twerpy prepubescent child, he’d go to the frat bar down the road, the one with the sorority sisters who don’t seem to have discovered bras yet. Doesn’t mean he’s not looking, though. Not at her tits, because honestly he’s seen better, but at the way she holds herself, like she’s used to being in charge and doesn’t know how to let go. Bellamy’s used to seeing college kids come in the club and dance like they don’t know a damn thing, but Clarke… Clarke looks like she could destroy his soul.

She catches him staring, and the glare she gives him is _so_ hot, because it tells him that not only _can_ she destroy his soul, but she’s _going_ to. He gives her a quick nod, gestures for her to join him. She does, and he knows it’s his imagination, but he feels the ground shake every time she takes a step. He smirks, and flags the bartender down for another drink. If she’s going to destroy his soul, he needs to be a little more drunk than this.

When he’s good and intoxicated, he picks up his glass and walks to the corner booth in the back. She follows him, and he smiles. “Have we met?”

“Shut up, jackass.”

Bellamy laughs. “Have it your way, princess.” He slides into the booth, eyes trained on Clarke, and wonders how long she’s going to sit there and glare at him. She empties her drink, and he flags the bartender without looking away from her. It’s a staring contest, and it’s not broken until something at the front door catches her eye.

“Fuck,” she mutters. She looks like she wants to hide behind her glass.

Bellamy follows her gaze, and it’s that asshole from last week, only this time he looks even _more_ like a street bum. How Murphy ever let him in is a complete mystery. He sees Clarke, though, and makes a beeline for the booth, an angry scowl on his face. Bellamy imagines a pit bull, frothing at the mouth. This time, he isn’t technically interrupting anything.

“You got some balls, buddy,” he snarls.

Bellamy looks around, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back. “I’m not the one who just barged into a club to start a fight.” He nods toward the bar, where he imagines the bartender’s braids are going to grow heads and start turning people to stone. “You might want to rethink whatever you told the bouncer that got you in here.”

“Clarke. Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”

Clarke’s ready to obliterate her ex-boyfriend. Her mistake is getting out of the booth to stand toe-to-toe with him, because it leaves her open for him to grab her arm. Bellamy’s mistake is getting out of the booth when Clarke’s attempt to shake him off fails, because all those cards he’s been keeping close to his chest go flying across the table. Finn’s mistake is assuming Bellamy wants a physical fight, and even though Bellamy doesn’t throw the first punch, he gets the last one before Murphy comes in and drags Finn out of the club by the collar.

Bellamy calls for another round, and the bartender makes him swear he’s not going to start any more fights before she hands him one for him, and one for Clarke.

“I didn’t need your help,” Clarke snaps when he sits back down. “And you’re bleeding.” She taps her own lip.

Bellamy licks his lip, and then he realizes that it kind of does sting a little. “Damn,” he says. “Don’t worry. Alcohol’s an antiseptic, right?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “That was really fucking stupid,” she tells him. “Finn wasn’t drunk, and he was going to kick your ass, easy.”

Bellamy shrugs. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” She gives Bellamy that mortal-soul-destroyer glare. “What’s yours?”

“I’ve had too much to drink?” he offers. She doesn’t buy it, but she _does_ accept the drink he brought her, and before long they’re repeating last week’s encounter, all lips and tongues and teeth and hands.

(She’s going to destroy him, decimate him, completely and utterly annihilate every last bit of him, body and soul, and he doesn’t even care because it’s an honor, a privilege, a _pleasure_ to be devastated by a woman like her.)

 


End file.
